The Spider's Nest
by Girlaremo
Summary: Alistair has been missing for five months. It's not like him to poof off the face of the world like that, let alone leave home for more than a week without saying anything. As his family searches for him, Arthur dreams of a whimsical place full of disturbing secrets...can he find his brother in time, or will the mysterious man behind it all ruin their chance of finding Alistair?
1. Chapter 1

_Dreams are supposed to be your imagination running wild through the night. _

_Some are good, others bad. _

_Some horrifying, some sad. _

_They say dreams aren't supposed to hurt you. _

_But sometimes, they do._

* * *

Waking up in a place he didn't recognize, Arthur looked around from the plush bed, glancing at his hands, then to the rest of the room. It was a habit that he look at himself from where he lay to make sure he was alright. The room beyond his body was almost like one that someone would read about in a fairy tale. Pale floral walls with a pale oak dresser and matching vanity, both littered with little jars of glimmering things, and glass and gold plated jars of powders and makeup. He blinked and sat up slowly, frowning at the flowers that had started to fall from his hair. Looking back, the pillow had been lined with small and delicate flowers supposedly working up to meet his hair, leaving just a few to stray in his hair. "Peculiar..." As he swung his legs off the worn pastel quilt, he stood slowly, looking at the intricate pattern of the Persian rug on the floor. Somebody took the time and effort to decorate accordingly... From the etched and stained glass of the lamp to the chandelier that hung from the ceiling, it was almost too perfect. "This is odd..." His attention suddenly snapped to the jewelry on the vanity, especially to the rings that sat on the varnished oak in their own burgundy velvet ring holder. There were nine rings, each one representing the rainbow, and then a pearl and one black stoned ring. There was something off about the rings...figuring it was a dream, Arthur shrugged and picked one up—the garnet ring an slid it on his fingers. A warm glow slowly emerged, and his body warmed. Heat started building up in his hands until he was holding two fiery orbs resting in each. Mystified, he quickly took the ring off and put it back in its spot.

Now, a normal person would have went and possibly explored the rest of the house, but Arthur stayed in the room and tried another ring. There was another ring he wanted to try—the rose gold and pink pearl ring. The pearl itself looked like it was between pink and a light baby blue, and someone had fashioned the rose gold so that it had small tendrils encircling the pearl. Beautiful as it was, Arthur decided he must try it on. As he slid it onto his finger, another warm feeling crept through his body, but this one was different. The warmth resided in his stomach, and made his mind warm and hazy—he almost felt like crawling back into the bed, just waiting for something. He didn't know what, but he'd sit there and wait. Before the feeling got too strong, he gingerly pulled the ring away, setting it back in its spot. The warmth faded from his body again, and thankfully, so did the haze in his mind. As far as his thoughts went, he tried on the others, going from the orange citrine gem that gave him small light orbs around his hands and anywhere he pointed to the yellow topaz that gave shocking results, the sapphire which held the power of water, the indigo-colored lapis luzili that made him feel very heavy, and he couldn't breathe for a minute—He could have sworn he had gills—and so on. The ones that were different were the aquamarine gem, the onyx ring and the violet amethyst and silver ring. The aquamarine and white gold ring made him invisible—only he could see himself in the vanity mirror and even then he was only an outline of blurriness and the small ring on his finger. In comparison, the onyx ring changed his reflection to something entirely different. The three mirrors had different reflections when he looked up from the shiny black stone. The far left was a man who looked similar to Arthur, only his hair was a champagne color and his eyes were blue. He looked just as confused as Arthur when he looked to the far right reflection—some creature that looked like a devil with cherry red hair stood, holding the ring lightly just like Arthur did. The creature looked as pale as paper. The middle reflection though was what really scared him. Instead of a normal reflection just like any other mirror, this reflection of Arthur was thin and worn, eyes begging for some sort of mercy. One eye was a milky green color, the other was a sickly green hue. Dark rings had formed around the eyes, and there were marks all over his skin. Disheveled and messy, this Arthur looked like death warmed over. Quickly taking off the ring after that, he still held onto the amethyst ring.

"I would get out of here if I were you."

The voice startled Arthur and caused him to run into the night stand, almost knocking over the glass lamp. In front of him, standing by the door there was a boy, no older than twelve. He held a stuffed white bear in his arms, with old glasses perched on his nose. His hair was a bit long for him, but it framed his delicate face so nicely, it didn't really matter. Though his hair was wavy, there was one part of his bangs that made a perfect ringlet or two, leaving it to rest with the golden wheat-colored mop. His clothing, Arthur noted was a bit dated. Knee length breeches, a plain shirt, along with stockings and leather boots, this boy was a bit...odd to him, though he fit with the house quite nicely. "How long have you been here?"

"Please put the rings down..." He said quietly, holding the bear a bit tighter. "My papa will know if you've been messing with them, so I'd appreciate it if you'd put it down...I don't want him to get angry with me." The boy seemed to be getting a bit upset, so to avoid complication, he put the ring down, noticing a small detail that seemed to be missing from the whole set. The emerald. The green ring was missing.

"Who are you?" Arthur questioned, looking to the boy again, only to find that he was missing. "...Never mind..." The blond muttered, heading to the door where the boy had been standing. He really needed to get back to...where was he, anyways? He had been doing something before this, but he didn't remember. The door was intricately carved out of maple wood, leafy patterns cut into the delicate wood. Even the door knob matched with a bronze finish. Beyond the door was the hallway, the walls were painted a pale yellow color, and the baseboards were the same oak that matched the vanity and dresser. There wasn't a carpet, but on the pine floors, there was a long area rug patterned with flowers and such. There were a couple rooms down the halls, one was another hall connecting to other rooms and the other room was another bedroom. Instead of venturing down the stairs, he thought it would be alright to go to the other room farthest from him. His heart started beating a bit faster as he neared the door, glancing at the name etched in the wood. More maple leaves and vines spelled out '_Matthew_' in a graceful font. Slowly opening the door, he marveled at the sight. A dark varnished floor with matching dresser and wardrobe, plus a night stand. The bed looked plush and comfortable with its hand-made violet and white chenille quilt. On the ceiling was a starry night painted with delicate care, and the indigo sky was perfect. Arthur could have never done a job like that...he'd get too tired and give up, leaving blotchy spots that looked like clouds. In the corner there was a desk with a few notebooks, a box of assorted hard candies and a few novels, each of them a bit older than Arthur's time. Some were in French, others were a title or two that Arthur recognized. There wasn't a regular ink pen, but a nib pen and a bottle of Black India ink. The notebook was open, and there was a journal entry there for his reading.

_'January...' _The ink was smudged, all he could read was 'January'.

_'My papa told me that I couldn't go outside anymore. I enjoy playing with the children outside, but he says they're tainted. He said there was nothing good about them. I got upset with him but didn't yell—I didn't want to hurt his feelings by saying that he was wrong. Instead, I asked for a cat instead, and he smiled at me and said 'Absolutely'. A day or two later, he came home with an orange and white cat with floppy ears and wide green eyes. I can't think of a name for him. He seems like an old man and he'll only play for short periods of time. He's like me, I guess. Though he sleeps all day, he likes to sleep in my bed with me at night. I hope this kitten is good...I don't want Papa to take him away from me, too.' _

_'January 1...18...' _More smudged ink, and a couple wrinkled spots on the page. They looked like tear stains...

_'It's been Ten years since mama left us. Papa seems very upset today and won't stop pacing around. I'm worried for him because he's spent more time in his study looking at all sorts of bugs. He's gotten more and more of them sent to him from all over the world. I'm afraid of most of them them, though. I don't like bugs, especially the spiders. I hate spiders..._

_'Sometimes when he has a few caterpillars around, I'll stay around to watch them inch around and turn into butterflies. I like to think mama went somewhere with a lot of butterflies...maybe she'll send a post card or come back to take me and papa to see them. Papa would enjoy that, and so would I._

_I miss her.' _

"What a dark little book..." Arthur muttered, turning away from the desk. The poor kid who wrote in the notebook must have been like a prisoner in his own house. "I should get moving again..." He glanced back at the bed before he left, his heart dropped a couple inches. There on the bed was the white teddy bear, blankly staring straight ahead. There was a greater urge to leave as Arthur let the detail sink in. He backed out of the room, closing the door before he turned around and was face to face with the boy again. "Shi-"

"You really might want to go now—I really don't want Papa to hurt you too." The boy said, worry crossing his face.

"What do you mean? This is a dream, right? Dreams can't hurt—" The Briton was interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, quick and erratic. When the door swung open, Arthur's expression paled, his eyes wide. "Alistair?"

The man in question slammed the door behind him, making the smaller boy at the top of the stairs flinch. "Arthur, you need to get out of here." He huffed, grabbing Arthur's hand roughly, tugging him down the stairs past the boy. "Don't talk to that kid, either. You'll make his dad angry." Arthur was too busy trying to speak to even ask what Alistair was doing here.

"Where the hell have you been?! You've been gone-"

"I know I've been gone, but you really need to get out of here." His red-orange hair was hanging in his emerald eyes, and his forearms were littered in scratches and bruises. As they stomped down the stairs, Arthur glanced at the pictures on the wall. A family portrait with the face of the woman scratched out, leaving the boy and an unfamiliar man. A portrait of the boy holding a cat with floppy ears—the glass around the cat was cracked. Another portrait with the face scratched out, and lastly, a portrait of the unfamiliar man, smiling with a small but devious look on his face. He didn't look half bad. Blond hair, pale skin and a faint blush around the cheeks. The painter was good at the portrait...it was so life like. Arthur blinked and tried to remember the face, only to let out a horrified gasp to find that the picture blinked all _eight _of its eyes. "_Shit._" Alistair spat, dragging Arthur down another hall, and through the set dining room table. The candles were lit and the silver dishes were set at all fourteen places at the long table. The kitchen was just down the way, and he could smell food from the kitchen, and there was movement in the sitting room not far from the kitchen. Something was coming, and fast. Alistair stopped short at the front door, the stained glass window showed nothing of the world outside of the house. "You need to go. You can't let him find you, otherwise you're gonna get stuck here." Alistair messed with the door knob, trying jiggle it open. He cursed and listened as footsteps were following the sound of the loose knob, cursing loudly. With no warning, Alistair brought his hand to his face, grunting as he dug his fingers into his eye socket and started pulling with a gasping cry. Grabbing Arthur's hand, he pressed something into his palm, closing his fingers around it. The blond looked up to see a gaping hole and a frantic look from the remaining eye that was still in his brother's head. "Take that. He can't do anything without it. Don't come back here in your dreams. If you do, you'll get stuck like the rest of us. Don't sleep if you have to, just don't come back." He thrust the door open and pushed Arthur out before he could get a glimpse of what had been following them. Arthur could barely say anything before he suddenly woke up.

He was back in the room he knew better. The bedroom with white washed walls, a small and ugly desk with bills and his computer piled on it, along with a overfilled dresser with small objects of interest on top. There was a short and small coffee table that acted as a place for his alarm clock, and his reading glasses he wore if he wanted to pick up where he left off in his book. Looking down at himself, there was a book resting on his stomach, and the lamp next to the coffee table was still on. The light bulb was hot, and one side of his face felt the warmth of the glow. "What an odd dream..." He muttered, putting a bookmark in his book before turning off the lamp. He was wearing the clothes he had on last night, and the clock read ten-thirty. He was lucky that today was one of his days off, and nobody was home to wake him. Usually, his three brothers and one sister were around home, but the number of siblings in the house dwindled. Liam and Owen were picking up the work that Alistair had been offered, working on small renovations. The second eldest brother had gone missing one day, and ever since then, the three of them and their older sister, Niamh were putting out all sorts of alerts for the missing sibling. It wasn't like the time that Alistair had gotten lost on his way home from Canada after visiting a good friend (Niamh says it was more so a booty call than anything—the girl he met with was 'too cute to not tap', she said) and ended up sitting in Norway for a couple weeks. No, this was an actual case of Alistair missing without a trace.

"What a wicked dream..." As he swung his legs out of bed and sat up, he noticed something odd. His hand was clenched around something small and hard. It was round, he knew that. With the dream, he was almost half-afraid to see what exactly the object was. Opening up his fist, he was looking at a silvery band with a small yet vibrant emerald sitting in the metal. It was no bigger than a pencil eraser, and it shimmered in the low light. "...I never knew we had this..." There was a chain attached to it, and it wasn't one of the fine necklace chains, either. It was more so one of the chains that one would find on a ceiling fan chord instead. Without a further thought, he decided he wanted to keep it, so he put the chain around his neck and tucked the ring into his shirt. Breakfast was next on the agenda, along with listening to the three messages on the house's answering machine. Hitting the triangular 'play' button, he headed into the small kitchen to fix himself tea and toast, giving a half-minded listen to what the phone had recorded.

_'Message One: Thursday, May sixth at eight thirty a-m: Arthur, just your sis calling from the police station. There's still no word on Allie yet. It's been months...they say that it's starting to go cold, Arthur. They might just charge us more if we want to continue searching. One of the investigators also offered up that it might be one of those serial kidnappings that nobody will find. I don't know. I'll see you later, Artie.' _

Nothing out of the ordinary. Niamh was working extra hard to try and find Alistair. Hopefully she didn't push too hard, or even worse—they'd find a body if she worked them too hard.

_'Message Two: Thursday, May sixth at nine-o-one a-m: Hey, Owen's got a nail through his foot so we're heading over to he E.R. It wasn't his fault, I kind of shot the nail gun at his foot while redoing the kitchen of someone's house. We'll be home around ten after we get the nail out of his foot. I gotta go—no phones in the ER. Later.'_

Now they're out of a good income...great.

_'Message Three: M—y sixth-th-th-'rrh-nn' _The digital recorder started to garble a bit. That was odd...Arthur went over to check the answering machine, tapping on the recorder with a frown. _'Good morning, this is François Bonnefoy—I'm calling to inquire about a lost artifact of mine, and after given a list of possible locations of said artifact, I thought I'd call here. I'm looking for an emerald ring—it's simple, but it means so much to me. It used to be my wife's, so I can assume you understand the urgency. It's a gold band with a small emerald, so it shouldn't be hard to find, but if you do find such a thing, my address is Eight hundred Eightieth Second Street in Ashburry. The address is a bit rural, but it's easy to find. By the way, I'd like to thank the craftsman who renovated my kitchen...he did such a wonderful job. It's a shame he's gone missing.' _

The message cut off suddenly, leaving Arthur with a heavy feeling in his stomach. He looked down his shirt and at the emerald ring, shaking his head slowly. It couldn't be...No, he'd just jot down the address and investigate later, find the house on Google maps or something... yeah, he'd do that. That'd be easier than going out in a taxi or something. The message on the phone was still unnerving...was that really one of Alistair's customers? Arthur could always look through the book that he kept names and numbers in and find out where he last went, if that would help any. He always had two sets, and one of them were in the care of the policemen working to find him. But, if he were to get the date book, he'd have to go into Alistair's room...and that was a bit of a sore subject for Arthur. Sure, he had hated his brother for a while, but after a series of unfortunate events, he had warmed up to the brute and became better acquainted with the other. But...it had also been five months. Five months of looking and searching near and far, and through all the phone books and everything. It was worth a try.

After getting his tea—which had been brewing for much too long and had turned bitter, to his disgust—and couple pieces of toast, he didn't bother to change out of his clothes and readied himself in front of Alistair's room. He sighed heavily and bit his lip, reaching out to turn the brass knob when the phone went off again, startling him out of his focus. "For the love of..." He muttered, stomping over to the phone, forgetting the book for the moment. He picked up the phone gruffly, huffing into the reciever. "Hello?"

"_It's your brother again, Artie. We just got out of the E.R—Owen's foot is going to be okay, but he can't walk on it for a couple weeks."_

"Well, that's good. Is he on any medication?"

"_Just pain meds. They make him loopier than shit, I tell you." _Liam snickered. _"We're just waiting for a taxi home then we'll be back for the afternoon. I went ahead and called ahead to the other customers that we'll be out for those two weeks. You still got your job on at the department store?"_

"Of course. Today's just my day off." Arthur sighed, glancing back to the hallway where Alistair's room was. Currently, Owen and Liam were actually sharing a room, save for the days when Owen slept on the much too short couch in the living room. "I've got more hours than you on your job, that's for sure."

"_Oi, just because I'm only able to work one shift doesn't mean you have to rub it in." _The ginger snapped in retort, muttering to Owen to move his foot. _"Anyways, the cab's here. I'll have to talk to you when I get home. I gotta haul dopey into the car. Later."_

The call ended, leaving Arthur with a bit of a scowl. "What kind of idiot hits his brother with a nail gun?" Obviously his brother would hit the other with a nail gun, otherwise they wouldn't be in this mess. He moved his focus back to Alistair's room, putting the phone back onto the charger so he could go back to re-opening the can of worms that hurt him most. This time, he got the door open, looking into the clean room as if it were some sort of foreign land. Of course, he didn't like going in there. He'd rather eat said can of worms instead of crossing the line between the living room and Alistair's room. There was a desk and two small dressers, along with an actual night stand with a small desk lamp on it, and the notebook he was looking for. The messy scrawl that was his brother's was written across the front. 'Appointment Book: Home Copy'.

Though he didn't mean to, he sat down on the bed and picked up the notebook, looking at the cover. It was nothing special. Just a composition book with Alistair's handwriting on the pages. Arthur never had ventured into Alistair's room, and when he did, it was to wake the older man up. He noticed something new. A picture frame with an unfamiliar picture in it. There was a family—their mother and father, young Owen and Niamh, toddlers Alistair and Arthur, along with baby Liam. He didn't really remember what his parents looked like anymore. They had been missing for quite some time. He remembered when he was young that Owen had told them that mom and dad had gone on a trip for quite some time, and they weren't coming back for a long time. Their godmother took care of them until they could get on their feet by themselves, and then the siblings bought a room for all of them to live in until they each wanted to move out. Arthur just stared at the picture, his eyes misting over a bit. He missed them all—his parents and Alistair included. There was a knock on the front door, jolting Arthur from his thoughts. "One second, I'm coming," He called, bringing the notebook with him. Shutting the door gently, he wandered to the door only to find that Owen and Liam were behind it. He stood in the doorway glowering at them, shaking his head. "How the hell did you shoot your brother with a nail gun."

"Well..." Owen looked like he was absolutely out of his mind, his eyes hazy and unfocused. "We were working on something and Liam was talkin...and I wassn' lookin out for th' gun..." He chuckled and leaned on his crutches, his head lolling around. "Mm...but they got me good medicine an' I got some laughin gas..." He chuckled, closing his eyes for a moment. "Bu' the healthcare took care of it...We jus' gotta pay our bit..." Owen grinned stupidly, leaving Liam to roll his eyes at the other. Compared to Owen, Liam didn't look much like his brother. Owen resembled their mother's side, while Alistair, Niamh, and Liam looked like their father with their red hair. Alistair colored his sometimes to more of a auburn color, but otherwise he was just as red-headed as the rest of them. Arthur was different, though. He looked more like his uncle on his mother's side with his lighter sand colored hair.

"Alright, big guy...We'll get you and your foot laid up...Arthur, shut the door behind us." The duo hobbled past the Briton to the couch, flopping Owen down. "Just call me if you need anything...I'll be in my room."

"Al' right lil' guy..." The other slurred out, folding his hands over his stomach. Luckily, the medication made the other drowsy enough that he'd fall asleep before he'd really need anything. Arthur found that it'd be easier to pull his laptop into the living room and then look up the address from the answering machine. His memory served well, so he just went and got his computer and walked back to the living room, glancing over the sleeping Owen. "...I don't think I even feel sorry for him." He mutttered, flopping down in the white armchair across from the couch, quickly keying in the password to get into the computer. It was the same as any other password, meaning that if they had hacked his computer, he'd be in trouble. They'd never guess it, though. It was his little secret.

Before he got distracted, he got to Google Maps and filled in his home address and then the address of the place on the answering machine. Boy, was that François man right when he said it was rural...it was about an hour away from where Arthur's house was, and Alistair would have to get an extra fee for using so much gasoline. Or...He could just rent a car and head out there. They did say that the investigators looked over the area, but they hadn't relayed the details to Naimh and the others. Arthur was familiar how to drive, but otherwise he'd have to take a coach out to investigate for himself. "I wonder if I could see the place on street view..." He muttered, dragging the little person out onto the map, seeing that he could manage a glimpse of the house. To be honest, he was surprised he got as good a look at it to begin with. The house was surrounded by trees, a wrought iron fence, and there was a long driveway at the end of the trees. All he could really see of the house was the little description by the blurry Google maps result and a few familiar things. There was an old structure of some sort outside the house, maybe a gazebo or something. Out back there were glimpses of a garden fence, and some sort of window behind the weeds of the door. This place was a dump. How could anyone live there? Well, some people had their ways. Maybe he was getting the whole place redone and he was just living in a camper out back? Maybe. It was hard to tell. In the end, he found himself searching about this François Bonnefoy on the internet, finding only old articles about the man. He just glimpsed them, sighing a bit as he dozed off with his hands on the keyboard.

Arthur woke again, but this time in the dream again. He was sitting comfortably in a chair, his hands folded in his lap. His eyes looked down, then up again, finding that there was nothing wrong with the surroundings. He was in the parlor sitting room surrounded by matching Rococo furniture, each of the pieces were the same theme. Maroon velvet with a hint of gold embellishments on the dark walnut woodwork and clawed feet on the chairs and wardrobe. The walls were actually painted a pale dull green in comparison to the furniture with a few paintings on the wall. Still dazed, Arthur studied the room in more detail. The tea table in front of him held a tea set patterned with florals in a dripping water color style—unusual for the whole theme of the room.

"Papa said the teapot was made by one of his good friends. She was very good at what she did, but she lost her hand in an accident." The familiar voice made Arthur blink twice at the boy sitting in front of him again, holding that snowy white bear of his. "She made him a whole tea set out of porcelain and painted it with the special glaze they use for China Dishes. She also used liquid gold around the edges and painted more glaze on it...It's beautiful. He wanted just that design, and she did it."

"...Why are you here?" Arthur fumbled with the words, still waking up in the dream. "I mean...they told me not to talk to you..."

"They only say that because papa will get upset if you talk to me. He says people aren't good anymore so I can't talk to anyone. Only him, and he's scary. I don't like talking to my papa much anymore. I just talk to anyone...even my bear. I used to talk to my pets, but they've run away...papa told me they ran off to where my mama is. It's far away, so maybe when I'm older, I can visit." The boy looked down at his bear longingly, sighing heavily. "I guess he hasn't noticed you're here yet...he's upset with your brother. He gave you his eye."

Arthur looked down to his hand, looking at the still emerald colored orb in his hand. Unblinking, Arthur studied it a bit more. "Why is he upset over an eye...? And why is my brother here?"

"I don't know. I only know that I don't like it when they scream. I don't talk to anyone around here."

"You can talk to me, though. I'm not afraid of your papa. I bet he's a kind man."

The boy looked up at Arthur, almost horrified after the phrases. "No, he's not kind at all. He's very scary—I don't like all his eyes...some of them are little and beady, and you can't tell where he looks when he's speaking to you. I don't...I don't like it." He started to panic, his little chest heaving as he whimpered. "Promise you won't let him find me. I'll tell you where your brother is if you promise to help me out of here."

"I promise...I don't know why you're so upset...it's just a dream..." Arthur chuckled, rolling his shoulders a bit. "I'll just give this back to my brother so he can see again..."

"You think this is a dream?" The boy was right in front of Arthur now, little tears in his eyes. He looked so real...He reached his hand up to the boy's shoulder, feeling the softness of the fabric on his shirt, along with the coarse thread that held it together. Reaching up further with a look between confusion and slight shock, he felt the boy's hair—soft as a feather. His other hand felt the bear.

"It's...it's velvet...you've got a velvet bear." Arthur was beyond mystified. The dream was so real. "No, I'm just asleep, that's all...I'm sitting at my computer, in my comfy chair, just waiting for Owen to wake me up..." The blond bolted out of his chair, shaking his head a bit more. "Owen, any minute now—!" He yelled, eyes wide. Panic started to rise up in his chest, leaving a taste in his mouth. Was it the taste of anxiety? Partially bile and a bit of saliva. That was the taste of Arthur's fear.

"Stop that! He'll hear you! Be quiet!" He pleaded, holding his bear closer. A pale color swept across the younger one's face as he heard some sort of skittering in the distance. "We need to hide. Mister, we need to hide." He grabbed Arthur by his hand, tugging him towards the wardrobe.

"You'll get us stuck in there if you're not careful." Arthur hissed, opening the door of the upright closet for the other, going in after the smaller one. It smelled of moth balls and perfume from a woman's collection. The doors closed with a light and almost silent click, and in the darkness, Arthur couldn't see a thing.

"Be quiet...he doesn't like the smell of her clothes." The boy said quietly, huddled up against Arthur. "I'll be hiding here. Make sure he doesn't find you when you leave."

There seemed to be a bit more whispering after that, slowly growing into a woman's tone.

"Ar—ur. Art—r. Arthur. _Arthur._"

Sputtering a greeting, the sleeping man suddenly woke to his sister leaning down to his face, worriedly looking him over. "That must have been some dream you had...Owen rolled off the couch trying to wake you up. You were talking in your sleep...badly." Naimh said quietly, rubbing the shoulder of her younger brother. "It wasn't a nightmare, was it?"

"I don't think so..." Liar. "It was just...I don't even know what it was." Arthur sighed, pushing Niamh's hand off of his shoulder. "Since when did you get a caring bone in your body?"

"Since you've been having nightmares ever since Alistair's disappearance. It seems like you've been taking this the hardest, Arthur. You've had your little fits and rages, you've been grouchy, you can't even go in his room without psyching yourself to do so. How do I know? You brought out the notebook of his appointments. I know because sometimes you stand there at night and try to get yourself to go in there and borrow one of your favorite pens that's in there back from Alistair's room. Arthur, you're wrecking yourself over this."

"Yeah, well, I don't see you getting upset over this, Niamh." Arthur's voice jumped, snapping at her a bit more than he expected. "Just..." He grumbled, shutting his already blank laptop and shot up from his seat. "I don't know why I'm taking this so harshly—maybe it's just because I think something's wrong, or just..." He snapped and stomped his foot, trying to get the message out. "...Where the heck did you move Owen to?"

"He's sleeping in my bed. I'll take the couch for the night." She said lowly, shaking her head. "You changed the subject. How very mature of you, Arthur." Niamh hissed, turning her back as she marched off to the kitchen. "Your night to cook." She also added, slamming one of the doors of the house.

"Then we're eating Indian food again. I'm not even going to try to cook."


	2. Chapter 2

_Many things in one's dreams are often symbols of their own sort. Analyzing one's dreams is actually a practice among psychiatrists and others. Some think of it as a science in itself, others believe it is just for fun, much like horoscopes. What do you think?_

* * *

Alistair was worried. He was hiding in the house, trying to make sure that he didn't get caught. In his shirt was a small loaf of bread and a small canteen full of well water. It had taken a lot to get out to the well, and he cut through the kitchen in order to get as close to the basement as he could. With his one eye missing, it was hard to see. It wasn't painful, but the dry air made his eye socket a bit dusty sometimes, and there would constantly be dirt in said socket from being in the basement. He just learned to keep his eye shut, and then when he got a bit of fabric, he wrapped that over his closed eye until he could get an eye patch. He was hungry, and others were hungry, too. He was a room away from the store room, where the basement was.

Francis was lurking around somewhere, and God knew what would happen to him if the redhead were caught by the owner of the house. So, he picked up a few more things—a small packet of tea cookies, and just for the hell of it, a bottle of wine. There were makeshift cups down in the basement, so they could enjoy the bottle by the cup, or just drink out of the green glass.

Alistair was currently sitting behind the cupboard, peeking around the corners to make sure that he wasn't being watch. He looked up, down, left, right, then started moving with slow and low steps. The years of sneaking around during hide and go seek payed off, as he was absolutely stealthy. He reached the dining room, hiding under the giant table. Again, he looked up, down, left, right, then repeated the looking about before he started slowly moving again. He stood upright when he heard the sound of feet, crawling back under the table, wine bottle in hand and goods tucked into his shirt. From under the lace-draped table, he could see feet...but they were small ones, so he didn't have to worry. The owner of the small feet was singing something in his native tongue.

"_Alouette, gentille alouette, Alouette, je te plumerai..."_ He sang, humming over the words he forgot. He didn't linger very long in the dining room, heading to the kitchen for whatever reason. Alistair didn't think that Matthew was safe to talk to, only because whenever he did, Francis seemed to pop up out of nowhere.

As soon as he was out of sight, Alistair made the move again out from under the table, looking around yet again. He was so close to the store room, so close to safety. With one final dash, he was back in the store room, lifting up the rug to go down the trap door, down into safety.

Down in the basement, there were plenty of candles. There was a window that was usually open to let in the air and relieve the stiffness of the old air. There were faces that greeted him when he came back, quiet tones reaching his ears. "Alistair, you've come back!" One said, her blond hair and red ribbon visible in the low light. There was another girl in the basement, her long braids dirty from the time down there.

"Did you see anyone up there? Did your brother come back?" She questioned, standing much shorter than the other girl, whose name was Emma, and Alistair.

"He didn't come back...thank God." Alistair sighed, untucking his shirt to gracefully catch the food stored there. "But I got bread, tea biscuits, water, and a bit of wine." Emma took the bottle from his hands, looking at the label in the dim light.

"I'm surprised you got this...it's a really old French wine..." She said quietly, brows furrowed ever so slightly. "I can't even read the date on it...Alistair, if he finds out you're the one who took it, who knows what'll happen when you go up there next."

Alistair only shrugged, pulling out his pocket knife and started cutting up the bread loaf. "I'll ask for some cheese next time, then. That'll go over well, wouldn't it?"

"Alistair, you know we won't die down here. I've been here for a year without food, and I was fine." Emma crossed her arms over her unraveling sweater, the white sleeves dirty.

"You were also as thin as a pole. You appreciate the food, though. I don't like seeing anyone getting thin like that." The man sighed, handing bits of bread to Lilli, who gladly accepted the bit of food. "Just drink your wine. Give some to poor Feliks while you're over there. He's probably got to be a bit better..."

Feliks was a bit of a different story. He had arrived roughly here, fighting and screaming though in all reality, he was one of those guys who was a bit...more feminine, as some would say. Something happened to him, and the use of his lower half diminished as the days went by. So, while Emma was down there, she took care of him, then with the arrival of Lilli two months later, the three of them lived in their dark residence. Alistair became the 'head of the basement', taking care of all three of them.

Feliks also spoke of his boyfriend back in Lithuania by the name of Toris, hoping that he was alright. He said that the other 'Would be like, totally worried if he knew what was going on.'.

"I'll make sure he gets his fill, alright?" Emma sighed, taking a bit of the bread for herself and for the Polish man. "He's been sleeping an awful lot here recently, though. It's worrying me."

"He has?" Alistair offered the canteen to Lilli, sitting himself down on an overturned metal bucket. "Do you think he's sick with something?"

"No, I don't think so at all." Emma huffed, gently shaking the other awake, speaking quietly as he woke up. There was only one pillow in the basement, and that went to Feliks. There was a couple blankets and a beach towel that had been left by someone else, along with a pair of broken glasses and a hat of some sort. Lilli said it looked like her brother's, but it didn't smell of cinnamon and nutmeg like that ht did. "Are you alright, Feliks?"

"...I'm fine...just tired. You shouldn't be so worried about me. It's not like it's a big deal or anything. Everyone needs a little sleep." Feliks said with a small smile, trying to get himself up into a sitting position against the wall. He was weak in the arms, so by the time he did get up, his upper arms and shoulders quivered. "Ah...I feel like an old man..."

"You certainly don't look it, though. You're quite handsome." Emma was so kind and gentle when she was taking care of others. She had said that she was a nurse before she wound up here, and Feliks was a journalist. Lilli was young enough that she was still in school, just making it to her high school years. "Do you want a little bit of wine? Alistair brought it down from upstairs." She didn't bother to tell him that the others could be in danger because of the feat. "He's also got bread and a few cookies."

"I could take a bit, thank you. Not much, though. I need to watch my girlish figure." He chuckled, a smile tugging weakly at the corners of his mouth as Emma uncorked the bottle, taking one of the cloudy glasses and poured a bit of the red liquid into the bottom, allowing Felkis to drink his fill. After, she took some for herself, then passed the cup along to Alistair who had a few sips, then asked Lilli if she wanted some.

"I've never had wine before...my brother said I wasn't old enough for it." She frowned, looking at the cup with a questioning look.

"Well, it's worth a try, isn't it?" Alistair gave her a reassuring smile, watching as she took the cup. "It's not really what you'd think it'd be. It's not grape juice, that's for sure." As Lilli took a sip, her expression twisted and she handed the glass back to Alistair. "Don't like it?"

"It's not grape juice at all...I don't know why you like it...It burns my throat." She coughed, reaching for the canteen instead. "I'll stick to water for now."

"Sounds fine to me."

* * *

The ride out to the place was actually a long one. Arthur stopped for directions once or twice since he wasn't too handy with his own directions. The people he asked were a bit odd: A Dutchman selling fresh tulips at a gas station. He had strange amber-colored eyes that glinted in the light, Arthur noticed, and he was smoking a pipe with a bit of a sweet smelling tobacco blend. He told Arthur that taking the gravel roads would be easier than just wandering through the dirt back roads.

The other person he met in his travel was a kind looking woman with long brunette hair who was working outside her home. When Arthur gave her the address, she gave him a look and picked up her laundry quickly, saying that he shouldn't mess with such a place. She looked a bit upset, which was more than a bit odd. Arthur did end up getting to the house in the middle of nowhere, finding that it looked a bit worse in person.

The doors and windows were starting to look cloudy, and the weeds even looked like they were dying. Arthur got out of the rental car he borrowed and looked the place over, walking to the broken fence with its doors wide open. "Wow...this place is...a shit hole."

"Oui, but it's my shit hole to renovate." A voice called, making Arthur jolt and look for whoever was speaking to him. "It's not often that I see people around here...What are you up to?"

"Oh, um...I'm just looking around. I'm a surveyor. I'm looking for a good place to look at the land." Arthur lied. Hopefully the man bought it...the man looked familiar, too... "...You're not Francis Bonnefoy, are you?"

"I am, actually. You're missing the little...'Second', after the name, though. The original Francis Bonnefoy was my Great Grandfather." He reassured the other. He wore a pair of ragged jeans and a white t-shirt with a bit of dirt on the front. "You're actually in the wrong place for surveying, though. There's a better spot back down that road."

"Ah...well...thank you anyways..." Arthur nodded, pursing his lips. "Have you seen anyone else around here? My brother came out here a few days ago, and I haven't seen him for a long while."

"Would you like to use my phone to call him? Maybe he's just out soul searching?" Out in the middle of nowhere? Fat chance. Arthur nodded and accepted anyways, following the man to the house, not noticing the small changes that were happening. The grass got shorter and greener as he neared the house. The doors and windows were suddenly repaired, and the windows gave a light glow as if there were small lamps or candle lights behind the glass. Francis had disappeared, and the sky grew dark. Arthur was mystified when he realized he was standing on the front porch of the house, alone.

"Shit..." he looked back to his car, which was gone. He didn't have his phone, and his clothing...it was different. White button up shirt, slacks and polished leather shoes and a vest of sorts. There were small items in the vest. A little bottle of medicine, a lock pick set, and a small bottle of a sweet smelling perfume. He remembered the scent. It was the scent that was in the wardrobe in the sitting room. He also noticed that the small gold chain and the emerald hung around his neck, safely tucked into his shirt. He couldn't lose it now...it would be dangerous to, he decided. With a gentle hand, he took the doorknob in his hand, turning slowly. The door creaked open slowly, nice cold air rushing past his face. There was no going back now.

* * *

_Dream Memory : The Sapphire_

"_Ber, I don't think we're going to get out of here any time soon." It had been a week since Tino and Berwald had found themselves in the basement the Bonnefoy manor. They were dressed in seemingly dated clothing. Late forties, early fifties clothing by the looks of it. Their son, Peter, was curled up against Tino's chest, fast asleep even though he was hungry. Berwald was trying to find a way past the windows, unable to move the trap door. _

"_We have t' get out somehow...there's got t' be a way out..." Berwald said quietly, staring out the small window. The glass was cracked, bits of blood from someone else's fist trying to break it. "Mathias must have gotten out somehow...He came here looking for Lukas, and they're not here. They must have gotten out, Tino." _

_There was a rumbling sound on the trap door, claiming the attention of the Nordic couple. Peter still slept as the trap door opened and a figure stood at the top of the ladder. In a quick flash, Berwald was grabbed up and was being dragged off by his foot, grabbing at the floor in an attempt to resist. "Berwald!" Tino screamed, watching helplessly as the trap door closed, Berwald gone. Peter awoke to the Finn's screaming, some of his 'mum's tears dropping into the other's golden hair. _

"_What...what just happened? Where's Dad? Daddy?" He called, looking around the dark and dreary basement. "Where'd he go? Did he leave us down here?!" _

_Tino shook in fear, having got a glimpse of what was at the top of the ladder. A creature with eight eyes, the body of a man and half the body of a spider. Hours later, a piercing scream could be heard from the other end of the manse, then more rumbling at the trap door. Peter was next, but there was no screaming. Tino was alone. There was no doubt that the creature had killed Berwald, and Peter was gone. Sadness. Cold. The basement grew cold, bits of ice grew around the Finn as he curled up with his knees to his chest, freezing the basement even more as he slowly vanished, leaving behind a clear and dark sapphire._

_Peter in the end, had been turned into a small rabbit. Matthew kept the rabbit as long as he could before the poor thing died of starvation. It wouldn't eat, and the rabbit cried every night until it slept with Matthew in his bed. None of Matthew's pets lasted long. They were always too sad to live for some reason._

* * *

Alistair woke with a jolt in the middle of the night, already sitting upright in the dim moonlit basement. Through the window, he could see the faint outlines of two people in the garden. Two more spawned, then a smaller one. They were all looking over the rickety crosses that littered the back yard, speaking in soft tones. He assumed that they had all died here, their spirits turned a light blue color.

"I've seen them all before. They can't leave. They all used to be a family." Emma said quietly, looking out the other window with a sigh. "...I hear the Finn, Tino, crying sometimes. He always cried out for his son and husband, Berwald." She sighed and shook her head slowly, leaning on the stone wall after she was done viewing. "...Berwald didn't want to leave his family alone. He didn't think that they should have looked for their friend Mathias and his lover, Neils."

"...That's quite the love story. Their poor kid, though..." Alistair said quietly, pursing his lips as he watched the spirits fade. "Who else was down here...? And how do you even know about that?"

"My friend Lars told me that it's like being psychic. I can feel who's been here and what's around. It's odd. They talk to me sometimes, and they tell me things. There was an Austrian man who was here not long ago. He and...a few other people were here. There was a German man as well...He and Neils were here at the same time. Mm...There was also..." She trailed off, trying to focus a bit more. "Too many people. I can't tell you how many have been lost in the house."

The thought of so many people being down here was disturbing. Like knowing how many people slept in a hotel room before the next person. "Everyone that was in here died, right?"

"Well, I wouldn't be seeing dead people if they didn't." Emma sighed, turning to look at Alistair again. "I hope you get out of here. I hope we all do." She paused for a minute, pursing her lips. "...If only one of us can escape, let's send Lilli out. She's got more of a life than all of us. She's got all sorts of things she probably wants to do with her life."

"We should. Honestly, I think my brother'll be able to live without me. They still got Owen, so..." He shrugged, turning away from the window. "...If we're going to pass down here, I think that it's soon enough to say that you look beautiful. I only wish I could have met you in a better place than this." Alistair chuckled.

"You know...If we do happen to get out of here, I'll have to look you up. I'm sure we could work something out sooner or later." Emma offered, tilting her head to the side. "Maybe we could have our own little date down here? We've still got cookies and wine down here," She snickered. "And we've got the moonlight..."

"Even better." For the rest of the night, they drank the bottle of wine and ate a couple cookies until they fell asleep on each other, Emma's head rested on Alistair's shoulder. He slept a bit more sound knowing that someone was sleeping next to him, and the warmth brought him a bit of hope. He'd have to go out again and get more water. Hopefully he'd be alright to go upstairs the morning after...


	3. Chapter 3

Watching as the lights started to illuminate the sky, Arthur sat outside until dark came. Nothing seemed to bother him outside, but there were always the few little things he thought he saw. Shadows of people moving around in the tree line amongst the white pickett crosses. He had looked over some of the names in passing. Each of them had their own name, nationality, and death date on them. It was...odd. There were some unmarked, but they had a different daub of paint on them. Lukas Bondevik—1945. Mathias Kohler—1945. Gilbert Beilschmidt—1944. There were some newer dates that were on the crosses, others were worn away, only the paint spots left. Arthur almost felt like he knew these people...they seemed so close sometimes that he felt he could reach out a hand and comfort those who had been...well, here.

"What goes on here...?" Arthur asked himself, looking to the house. He had no clue where everything was now. Francis probably had mixed the whole place up so that Arthur couldn't find his way around...not that he could anyways. "...This is idiotic. How the hell did I get tricked into this?"

"You're Alistair's brother. That's why." Someone said quietly, making the blond look around with fearful eyes.

"Who's there?" Arthur couldn't see anyone at first, but looking closer, there had been a ghost standing near him. Somehow...he wasn't surprised. "Oh...I'm sorry...I didn't notice you, miss..."

"I can understand if you're bad with names, sir, but I thought you'd remember me." She said lightly, tilting her head to the side. "Miss Honda, Arthur. I haven't seen you since I went out looking for you. You wound up here, of all places..."

There was no memory of a 'Miss Honda' anywhere in his mind, and he didn't think he had ever seen her face before. "Excuse me..you must have the wrong Arthur...I'm afraid I don't recall you at all, Miss Honda..." He grimaced, going back to the first thing the phantom had said. "...How do you know of Alistair?"

"It doesn't matter...I must have the wrong Arthur...the Arthur I knew is long gone...Goodbye, sir..." She was gone in a matter of moments, leaving Arthur to wonder who she was and why she knew of his name and his brother.

"She's a phantom now...she remembers your face from somewhere, but you must not be the right person for the memories."

Arthur spun around from the porch, staring at a sudden appearance of Matthew with a bloodied polar bear plush. "You're bleeding, child-" Arthur made a worser grimace, reaching up to take Matthew's hand. The smaller one brought himself back from Arthur, staring with dull eyes.

"I'm not hurt...it's not my blood. Someone was misbehaving, and mon papa tried to take care of them. A Belgian woman got in the way, and your brother got upset. He's separated them all up so that they can't get out of the cellar anymore. The Polish man is still in the basement...he doesn't have much time left."

"What are you even talking about? Who is hurt in there?" Arthur asked, becoming very worried about the people inside. "How many are in there?"

"There are five people in the house, and Papa. He stays in the attic most of the time, but that's where one of them is. I can't remember how to get to the attic. I hit my head too hard in the wardrobe. Papa found me that day you left me in there, and I bruised my head." Matthew sighed, looking dismayed at the loss of memory. "...He broke my glasses, too. The lens is cracked and it bothers me."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but...is there a way to get the people out?" Set on finding his brother, Arthur wanted to get into that house and get everyone to safety.

"Only papa knows the way out, and I don't know what that would be, either." The smaller blond rocked on his heels, looking out past Arthur to the graveyard. "...They're getting upset. They don't want you here for some reason. They're saying something about the prince returning? They don't like that at all."

"Well, I'm not a prince." Arthur huffed. "Even so, someone has to do something about this place. Maybe if one of those rings are around here, I could use that to help me get Alistair—I mean, everyone out."

"Like this?" Matthew held out the gold and topaz ring in his palm. "I found this...Papa scattered the rings as well, and I don't know where they are."

"This is the one...that ring that makes the lights." Arthur nodded, slipping it on his fingers, bringing around yellowy orbs of light. "Brilliant...this will be good..." Arthur snapped his fingers and turned the orbs dim until they were gone, turning for one of the oak trees that had an ax stuck in it. He had noticed it when he first came around, but now he decided he needed it. "...I should at least try to go and find everyone...there's a safe room somewhere...right?"

"...The study. It's the room that you first walk into from here. I know only that much. There are journals and diaries in there, and you can probably find a floor plan in there, too." Matthew replied, hugging his bear close. "...Please don't let him take your eyes, too. I don't know what will happen if he takes your eyes. You've seen what will happen...the dark ring."

Arthur recalled the first dream, seeing that sickly version of himself in the mirror. It looked ghastly...death itself made that image. "Right...that won't happen, Matthew...now stay with me. You're going to come with me and help me find the others...okay?" He nodded, waving Matthew along. "It's not safe for you to be out here on your own, so I'll keep you safe with me."

"Promise?" Matthew asked, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Promise."

The moment they stepped foot into the house, it was a different atmosphere. Everything had turned a bit darker, and it wasn't as welcoming as it was at first. The windows had even changed, filtering in dim lights instead of the norm Arthur had seen. The study itself had dark lacquered furniture and blue stained glass windows. This place...felt safe. The doors completely shut, and there was room for at least five people. Perfect. "Now...where are those floor plans..." Arthur said quietly, poking around the drawers finding nothing special. Photographs, scribbled notes, a diary and a memo.

_Memo to Self-_

The handwriting was feminine. Matthew strained to see the handwriting, furrowing his brows. "That's mama's handwriting. She wrote in the cursive like that...papa didn't like it because he said she scrawled. He did the same thing, though. I don't get why he got so angry."

_Take Matthew to the duck pond. He needs the outdoor air._

_Make sure to bring home groceries. Francis needs to eat more._

_Cat food. Bread Loaf. Cheese. Dry ale._

"I wonder why this is here...oh well...Should leave it for now..." Arthur murmured, looking through the pictures. They were Victorian style, everyone was dressed up. This was a normal picture where everyone half smiled. Francis was sitting in a chair comfortably, Matthew was on his lap, and Francis's wife stood by them, her hands resting on his shoulder. She had the most intriguing smile. In her eyes, she looked like she was faking—like she was uncomfortable for the moment, knowing the picture would look more like a lie when it developed, but her smile...her smile made the lie more real. A motherly smile that brought warmth back into everyone else. Another picture was a still of baby Matthew—it was more of a print of a picture—like someone had done it in ink instead of photography. The last picture was of Francis in his study—the study they were in right then. He didn't seem to care about who was taking the picture, but he turned just as the camera flashed, making his face blurry.

"These are so odd..." Arthur said, showing them to Matthew. "You remember these at all?"

"I remember...Mama...she didn't like the shirt I was wearing...she said it made me look like I had no neck. I was five at the time, and I didn't know they were fighting all the time. I just played in my room and went with mama to the duck pond...the ducks were nice..." He trailed off, looking at the other pictures. "The picture of papa was the night before mama left...I wish she hadn't. We wouldn't be here if she didn't leave."

_Diary Entry, Monday June...xxxx_

_ I am tired of Francis not leaving his study. He has so many bugs crawling around that I can't keep the house clean enough. I think that is why Matthew gets so sick. The dead bugs he leaves laying around sometimes rot and then the mold gets to Matthew's lungs and he can't hardly breathe. The doctor said he was allergic to it, so we have to go outside anymore to get him sunlight and clean air. _

_ I keep finding bugs in Matthew's food as well. It only happens when Francis cooks, and I'm not standing for any more of this. I'm taking Matthew back to Oriona when the next moon phase hits, and I'm leaving Francis to his own devices. I don't want Matthew to have to deal with life here with someone who won't take care of him._

"Where's Oriona?" The name didn't seem familiar to Arthur, and Matthew looked just as confused. "Maybe it's an old country of the past...It wouldn't surprise me if it was." He sighed, leafing through some of the old books and diagrams to find the floor plan they needed. "Aha, there it is..." He grinned widely, looking over the patterns. "So we're in the study here..." He pointed, grabbing a blue fountain pen and outlined the study. "And then there's a hallway there..." Looking over the floor plans, there was a lot of places that the people could be. He picked up a different pen, folding up the plans so that he could mark down where he found everyone. "So there's a hall up here...we should look in the kitchen for anyone, and then we'll bring everyone to the study so they're safe...alright?"

"It sounds okay to me...We should check the living room and the formal living room...then go near the front porch to the dining room...I wouldn't go upstairs yet." Matthew said, poking at the map to show him. "...There's a bedroom and a couple garages where they could be...and the kitchen. I've seen your brother in the kitchen for everyone else. He likes to take care of people, I guess."

"Where's the basement, though?"

"It's under the guest bedroom...I think that's what the map said. There's a service hall near the study."

"Well...We'll start looking around after a bit...I'm still wanting to look into the history of the place." Arthur replied, rifling through the endless pages of journals, notebooks and articles. "But one thing's true...We're going to look in the basement first."

Emma sat on a stool in an unfamiliar room, leaning over a bed she had never seen before. There was a life-like doll laying in the bed, seemingly 'sleeping'. She couldn't move. Not a bone or muscle could even twitch—Her back was getting sore. She just sat there, unmoving. "...You would make a lovely mother...I can't find my child, so this one will have to do." Emma could feel her stomach rise into her chest, eyes tempted to move. The voice was familiar—it was the man to bashed her head. Even though it was fuzzy, she remembered the face that matched the voice. The sound of footfalls on the ground came closer, then a creaking sound came from the bed. "You are very beautiful...I'm surprised I had never seen you before...I would have taken you up instead of..." He trailed off, gently grabbing Emma's chin to look at him. Her eyes were afraid. There were three beady black eyes around Francis's deep blue orbs, and he looked ghastly pale—nothing like he did in all the portraits around the house. "What...? You are afraid of me, aren't you?" He cooed, smiling widely. He had a pair of fangs in his mouth, and a vile smell of poison came from his mouth. "...You shouldn't be, though...I could take care of you easily."

"P-Please...Let...G-Go..." Emma sputtered, trying her best to pull away, but her body wouldn't obey. This only made Francis smile, letting Emma return to her previous position.

"I should have turned you into a kitten or something to entertain Matthew...or maybe that red-haired troublemaker...he would make a nice little pet..." He smirked, watching as the Belgian's body quivered and small tears fell from her eyes. "Look at you...getting so worked up about something so small...He's so feisty, he wouldn't be able to keep that shape for long...he ripped out his own eye for that brother of his...I'm more interested in the brother if anything...if there's one Kirkland...there's bound to be more in this universe."

Notebook: How the Rings Work

_[The Name has been scratched out in black Ink—It's impossible to see who or what wrote this]_

_Every human can be manipulated to leave a gem behind after death. Depending on the emotion at hand, and how one manipulates the emotion, it depends on what one gets after poaching the soul. _

_Eye color and emotion are key factors when it comes to obtaining gems, and the base of the ring is also a key amplifier with these. Some gems can be synthesized together at the time of gem-holder's death to make a multi-colored gem. [See the notes about gems and powers]. _

_Gem Powers_

_Ruby: Fire powers. Not good for light, but good for igniting objects._

_Amber: Super Strength. Anything is light as air. Limited time for use._

_Yellow Topaz: Light magic. Good for light, and good for startling enemies._

_Emerald: [Unknown]_

_Sapphire: User obtains gills. Water is easily tolerated, and ice is nothing. General water affinity._

_Aquamarine: Invisibility. Used for sneaking around._

_Pearl: More of a trap than a useful gem. Synthesized Gem-Albino [Pink] and Pale-Eyed man [Pale Blue] User feels more lust-filled and craves sexual attention or lesser feelings._

_Amethyst: Matthew's brand of magic. Nobody knows what it is because it is his, and he won't let them have it._

_Obsidian: Fortune-telling stone. Allows people to see their possible or alternate selves if a mirror is nearby. _


End file.
